On Wheels
by Pip3
Summary: "Sure, maybe they never really had a roof and four walls... but they were never, in fact, homeless." - Chuck Shurley. Tag for "Slumber Party" (9x04). Sam explains in more detail why he doesn't consider the Men of Letters bunker to be his home.


**On Wheels**

_Authors Notes: This takes place the day after 'Slumber Party'. It is my first Supernatural fanfic, and my first general fanfic since 2007. Please be kind._

_Dislaimer: This story is not authorized, prepared, approved, licensed, or endorsed by Warner Bros., Eric Kripke, or any individual or entity associated with Supernatural._

Dean awoke early in the morning after Charlie left for Oz with Dorothy... which, by the way, still sounded incredibly odd in his mind. He put on his gray robe and walked from his, yes _his_ bedroom, to start the day. As he walked by, he observed Sam's bedroom door was wide open and the room as empty. This told Dean that he was, as usual, not the first one awake.

He yanked once on the robe belt, pulling it tighter as he made his way through the bunker to the kitchen in hopes that his little brother maybe put on a pot of coffee before going off to do... whatever he did at these ungodly morning hours. No such luck. He heaved a great sigh as he saw the kitchen looked exactly the same as it had the night before... including the giant mess left by the Wicked Witch.

He halfheartedly grabbed a coffee filter and started a pot of coffee. While waiting for his morning pick-me-up, he set about tidying up a bit. Pans on hooks, bowls in the cupboard on the left. At least no glass-ware was broken. It was just cluttered.

Okay, he understood what Sam was getting at last night. This wasn't home to Sam... but it was the closest he and Dean were going to get. If this wasn't it, then where else would home be? So it would have been nice if Sam could have done something to help out before he took off instead of just leaving all of the mess for Dean to clean up.

After the kitchen was somewhat in order and he had his cup of joe, Dean looked at his progress and decided that today would be a productive day. Maybe he would wash the Impala. After all, Baby had a home now too. A new smile on his face, Dean made one detour to his room to get dressed and then headed to the Men of Letters garage.

"Baby looks good in here," he took a sip of coffee and walked to his car. He gently stroked the black finish as he walked around and then stopped when he noticed a familiar shape in the passenger seat.

There was Sam, eyes closed and face squished into a pillow against the passenger window. It was a familiar enough scene, though usually without a pillow, but never when there had been a bed of his own just waiting for him.

So... Dean actually was the first one awake, which helped him forgive Sam for not helping clean the kitchen. But there was nothing to explain why Sam was sleeping here instead of in his bed. Nothing except Sam himself. So he decided to make himself comfortable and wait until his little brother came around.

~~/~

Sam awoke slowly. Though his long limbs were folded and stiff in the cramped quarters of the car, he felt completely at ease and comfortable. He blinked his eyes a few times, clearing the sleep out of them and wiped a hand across his mouth.

"Good morning, Princess. Sleep well?"

Sam groaned and turned to look at his brother, who was watching him with an amused grin from the driver's seat.

"What time is it?"

"Oh, it's about quarter after what the hell are you doing out here?"

"I was sleeping." Sam knew he wouldn't get away with that answer, but it was worth a try. He wasn't surprised when Dean didn't just nod and accept it.

"The bed in your room wasn't good enough?" Dean's eyebrows raised with the question. Sam sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. It was a habit he'd recently caught himself doing more often and he pulled his hand away when he once again realized he's been doing it. He leaned his head back and stared at the familiar roof of the car he'd been raised in.

"I couldn't get to sleep last night. There was all that talk about homes and I remembered I'd never had trouble falling asleep here. It was worth a try... it worked."

"Wait..." Dean shifted in his seat, turning his body towards Sam and setting his now empty coffee mug on the floor of the Impala. "Are you telling me that you got homesick for the _car_?"

"I wasn't... it's not- I wasn't homesick. But if I was, this is the only constant home I have actually ever had. You and this car are the only things that have lasted my whole life." Sam's hand absently stroked the soft leather seat as he spoke. His shoulders hunched defensively and his head came forward, hair hiding his face as he spoke. "I grew up here."

"So... you were homesick for the car." Dean repeated. A slow and genuine smile lit up his face.

Seeing that he wasn't going to be made fun of for that, Sam relaxed his defensive and embarrassed posture. He squinted at Dean for a moment, figure out if it was safe to continue with the conversation that he knew would be venturing into chick flick territory. Figuring he was safe, he took the dive.

"Okay yes. There's... I never told you some things. There was never a good time for it. I mean, there just wasn't any time at first. I needed to jump in that pit while I was still in control of Lucifer... and then I didn't have my soul and I was just too confused about it myself. Then, after a while it was just something that had happened too long ago to be relevant." Sam rambled, trying to find his footing and get his thoughts in order.

"Whoa, whoa... Sammy stop. Slow down. Start over." Dean's stern command helped. Sam took a breath and began again.

"Yeah, uh yes. At Stull..." Sam paused, meeting Dean's eyes and letting him know with a look that this was something big for him. "I was awake during everything... everything that Lucifer did. Well, you know that. But... Dean, he was so strong. We'd underestimated him so badly. I fought so much and just never could claw my way up."

"We never really talked about that day. I never asked... I should have. Sammy, I'm sorry." Dean had no idea where Sam was going with this, what it had to do with homesickness and the car. Maybe it didn't. Maybe Sam just needed to finally get this out. No matter what, Dean wanted to be supportive.

"No, Dean.. that's not what this- just... I don't want an apology. I could have said something if I really wanted to talk. I just want to explain something that I think only you would understand."

"Okay."

"Lucifer was so strong. I wasn't even an obstacle for him to worry about once he was in there. I know I just said that, but I need you to understand how big of a deal this next part is. I could not beat him." Sam's eyes were wide as he emphasized this to Dean. "And then you showed up... Def Leppard blaring from the speakers, driving our home right into ground zero. You gave me hope. I suddenly had new strength."

Dean's face burned as he listened. He was never good at receiving praise or thanks and to hear this coming from Sam... he was touched, but he still wanted to shush the kid and move on. Of course, he wouldn't. This was important and he needed to keep his mouth shut and keep listening.

"While he- I?- he was beating you on top of the Impala, there was this moment. It was almost like when they say your life passes before your eyes. I swear I could see so many memories at one time. All of the most important ones... and they were all of you and of the car. And of the history we shared in this car. The emotions felt in this car. I swear... that's what overwhelmed Lucifer. He was in my head, so he was bombarded with it too... and it was just too much for him. The strength that it gave me, it took from him." Sam pressed his hands flat on the dashboard of the car, soaking in the history. "Dean, _this_ is what gave me the home field advantage... my literal home."

Dean stared at Sam's hands, too overcome to look at Sam's eyes. He gripped the steering wheel tight with one hand while the other swiped down his face.

"Let me get this straight... see if I understand." He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. "For one day... the fate of the whole world depended on this car. My baby. The _car _helped you beat Lucifer? Sam, I don't even know how to process that."

Sam laughed. His hand was on his neck, rubbing self-consciously and he quickly ripped it away when he realized he was doing it again.

"Not only the car. You too. But uh... just take it as a compliment, man. You and this car helped me do what I had to do. And... I just thought... it would help explain why I was sleeping here... and everything else I couldn't explain well enough last night about the topic of home."

Dean nodded, accepting that. His eyebrows furrowed momentarily as he thought of something.

"And you said, when you were Robo Sam..." He trailed off in hopes that Sam would pick it up.

"Yeah, that was _so_ confusing at the time. I had just come back from Hell. I had just taken the plunge in there and... by the way I just want to add that it's still very strange to have two sets of memories from the same time. So I had just jumped into and escaped from Hell. I knew what I had done... I knew what my reasons had been... but I couldn't justify my actions again. I couldn't replicate the feelings that made me _want_ to sacrifice myself for you or anyone." Sam chuckled and was suddenly hit with the strangeness of the situation he was trying to explain. There was nobody else in the world that Sam could talk about this too unless he wanted to end up in a straitjacket.

"The part that confused me most was you." He continued.

"Me?" Dean shrugged. What the hell, he wasn't the one who changed. How was _he_ the confusing one?

"Well yeah! I mean... you knew that you couldn't actually do anything, but you still showed up at Stull anyway just so I wouldn't be alone. I never thanked you for that, by the way. But yeah, you- we all thought it was the end and you were willing to also die just so I wouldn't be alone. You're the best goddamn brother in the world. And that was the last memory I had of you before I lost my soul... and soulless, I couldn't make the connection and just couldn't figure out what the hell you were thinking. I just knew you were important to me. I didn't show it very well, I know..." Sam's eyes were sad as he remembered all the shit he put Dean through when he was without a soul.

"Dude, you thanked me enough... you jumped into Hell. Did we not just cover that? Besides, I just went to watch the show. Had popcorn in the backseat and all." Dean added the last part to try to chase away the awkwardness he felt from a chick flick moment that, in his opinion, had gone on too long.

With Dean's comment, all tension bled from Sam's body and the ache in his throat faded away. He was silently thankful for the perfectly timed escape. Even someone who liked talking about their feelings could only handle so much heavy subject matter before needing a break.

"Well, I'm sorry I cut the show short for you."

"It's okay, Sammy. We have the rest of our lives left. I'm sure I'll be provided with plenty of entertainment at your expense."

And that was just it. They had the rest of their lives. For now, neither of them were dying (as far as Sam knew and as far as Dean would acknowledge). For now, the world was not ending. And forever they had each other and a home... even if it was on wheels.

"_Sure, maybe they never really had a roof and four walls... but they were never, in fact, homeless." - Chuck Shurley_

_**The end... please review! Helpful critiques welcome!**_

_Extra author's note: Has anyone else noticed Sam rubbing the back of his neck a lot this season? My husband's theory is that he can subconsciously feel Ezekiel camping out._


End file.
